After Pain Comes Sweet Revenge
by LuckyTurtle
Summary: This was the day that Harry Potter turned his back on his relatives, the Dursleys, and decided that, one day in the future, he was going to make the Dursleys regret all the pain they caused him. A little abuse. A little angst. A little pain. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

The blood was pounding in his head. He could feel it pulsing, throbbing, and rushing through his skull, causing pain. It was nothing, however, to the rapidly-getting-worse, stinging, sharp pain that came from the cause of his disorientation.

And, at the moment, he was having a hard time recalling what, _exactly_, the cause was. He blinked a few times, and shook his head—trying to clear it.

Bad idea.

That made his confusion considerably worse, and the ground tilted at an odd angle.

_Okay, Potter. Clear your head. Where are you?_ he asked himself.

The kitchen, of course. At eight o' clock in the morning, there was no other place he would be. At nine years of age, he now did _all_ the cooking for the Dursleys, seeing as he was tall enough to reach everything—and had enough mental capacity to remember how to cook everything.

Though, if he continued to be hurt in the head like he was now, he might not have any more brain cells to think with—much less use for cooking.

_What are you doing?_

Well, that was already answered. Cooking, of course. He was cooking bacon and eggs. They looked very delicious, right about now. After missing the past six meals (he counted), his stomach was rumbling rather ominously and he was beginning to worry he would get severe stomach pains before his next meal.

_Who is with you in the kitchen?_

Well, Dudley, naturally. He was so big it was hard to miss him when he was in the room with you. Vernon, who was, at the moment, staring at him maliciously, vindictively gleeful at the punishment he had just received. And Petunia, who was standing over him with a frying-pan. It was sizzling with heat waves and fresh off the burner, so it was rather obvious and easy for him to pick out his source of discomfort now: the frying pan.

Now that he thought about it, he could definitely feel the burn on his skin. It was stinging with pain and felt very tight, like it was about to break and peel off his skin at any moment. He had simply been too distracted by the pain in on the inside of his head to realize what he felt on the outside, too.

And then it hit him: Aunt Petunia had hit him with a frying pan. A hot, burning one.

He was shocked—though he wondered why he should be.

The Dursleys were never nice to him, of course. Dudley treated him as his punching bag, Vernon took pleasure in verbally abusing him, and Petunia loved sending looks of hatred and contempt his way.

However, other than Dudley, they had never laid a hand (or a pan) against him. They took special care in not physically abusing him, for some reason he could not understand. His mental state they could care less about, but his physical (other than the lack of food he was given) was carefully looked after.

He looked up at Aunt Petunia just then, and the tears were swimming in his eyes. Though they would not fall—never fall, ever—he was sure his aunt was startled by them.

He took special care in not letting the Dursleys realize how much their words harmed him, and he never, ever cried in front of them. In fact, he could not remember a single time in which he had cried—though he was sure he had done it as a baby.

The tears in his eyes now must come as a great shock, for they were not the usual for him (not that much was usual about Harry). Of all things, they were the most unlikely to be associated with Harry Potter, in the Dursleys' eyes.

He stared deeply into his aunt's eyes, trying to understand.

_Why?_ he asked her silently, pleading with his eyes. _Why did you _do_ this? Why do you not love me?_

He received no answer from her astonished hazel eyes, those which still held contempt for him, even as she was ruled by another emotion.

His eyes, and his resolve, hardened, just then, when he saw that contempt that was so deeply seated into her very being.

_These people—these _animals_—are no relatives of mine, _he told himself. _They are mere acquaintances, who are looking after me for the time being. From now on, though they may feel as if they are using me, _I _will use _them_. I will use them for food (though rarely may I get it), clothing (though ratty they may be), and shelter (though small it is). And then, finally, when I move out of this house, I will get my revenge, and they will feel sorry for all that they have done to me. I _will_._

That day was the day Harry Potter turned his back on the only family he ever thought he had. That was the day that Aunt Petunia one day learned to regret, for she knew that her end stemmed from the hatred Harry Potter formed on that day.

For no matter how Gryffindor Harry Potter may act, no matter how noble, caring, and brave, he still has that Slytherin streak. And within that Slytherin streak, he holds the quality of revenge.

And revenge is sweet.

**Well, this definitely turned out differently than I wanted it to.**

**I really wanted to put somewhere in there that Petunia felt regret for what she had done, especially after looking into Harry's eyes. I wanted her to think something about how his eyes were so much like Lily's (classic, I know), but I couldn't really get it in there.**

**I couldn't make it happen because I couldn't just switch from Harry to Petunia that easily, seeing as we were hearing about Harry's feelings. And I didn't want to break the oneshot up and switch to Petunia after a break in the page, so…well, I just didn't put it in. **

**Hopefully this didn't damage your idea of Petunia too badly—I really do like to think she regretted all the abuse she put Harry through.**

**Reviews are appreciated, as always :) **


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